Rhymes With Itches
by kiwichookie
Summary: Mark Chao, the murdered innocent in the season one episode, "Dead Man Dating" returns as a whitelighter, and seeks the sister's help with his trouble-making charge, Clark - a unique young witch who refuses to believe in magic. ON HAITUS.
1. Prologue

"Look, Mark. You're a nice guy and all, but maybe you should go - I don't know, see someone?"

He sighed in exasperation. "I'm not crazy, Clark. I'm a whitelighter."

"Uh-huh,"I replied skeptically, tone flat. "And what, pray tell, is a whitelighter?"

"It's like a guardian angel. And Clark, I'm _your_ guardian angel."

I took a step away from him and opened the door, gesturing for him to leave. "Mark, I really think you should go."

"Dammit, Clark, listen to me!" He stepped rapidly toward me, gripping my upperarms.

"But what you're saying is insane! I'm not a - a -" I paused, the thought too ridiculous to even come out of my mouth. I mean, how often in day-to-day life did someone decide to reveal to you that they happened to be your guardian angel and that you were a -

"You _are_ a witch!"


	2. Chapter1: An Incredibly Awkward Eternity

Yay! First chapter! I've been working on this literally all day, and it's _Thanksgiving!_ But I felt the need to get it done. :)

Enjoy!

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><p>Chapter 1: An Incredibly Awkward Eternity<p>

I rushed along the sidewalk, my loose curls streaming behind me. In a rush to get to my destination on time, I paused only for a second to apologize to the strange-looking man I bumped into - dressed all in black, he emanated menace and hatred.

"S - Sorry," I said quickly, before hurrying on, eager to get away from such an intimidating character.

I shivered, pulling my navy blue peacoat tighter around me to guard against the cold as I checked my watch.

"Two-thirty?" I gasped. Hefting my Barnes & Noble tote higher on my shoulder, I crossed my arms, lowered my head, and drudged on against the wet New York snow until I got to my destination.

Smiling as I stepped into the warmth of the restaurant, I saw my dear friend waiting, his back to me. It was he that I had come here to see, upon his urgent request to see me - citing an emergency of some sort as the reason for his haste. I watched as he pulled up the sleeve of his black blazer, checked his watch, and sighed in frustration, shifting anxiously.

"Mark." He turned when he heard his name, and smiled at me in apparent relief. I started toward him, arms open, ready for our standard hug. He met me halfway and hugged me tight, holding me close for a moment cut short far too quickly.

I stepped back, looking into the eyes I knew so well. Keeping my hand on his arm, I searched his familiar features for signs of distress.

Mark and I had known each other for three years. We met in late 1998, just after I turned sixteen - he was twenty-three at the time - when I lived in Texas. I still remember that day perfectly. At sixteen (with the help of an extremely understanding grandmother), I had graduated early, rented my own apartment, and started working 45 hours a week. One of the jobs I had was as a barista at a local coffee shop - that was how we met.

He came in one day during the hectic morning rush, and ordered a caramel macchiato - _"For here"_, he had told me with a sheepish grin. I took his order, and he said thank you with a smile. I handed him his receipt, and he said thank you with a smile. I handed him his coffee, and he said thank you with a smile. Then proceeded to hand me a five dollar tip.

In Dallas, Texas, at eight-thirty in the morning, with a line of late-to-work people extending out of the door at the most popular locally-owned coffee house in town, _no one_ is polite. Smiles? Forget it. And tips? Never happen.

After receiving his drink, he took a table near a window (I remember the morning light streaming in from behind him, turning him into a dark silhouette from a distance), and settled in with the morning paper until the rush was over.

As usual, we all cheered once the the traffic of people cleared, and I caught the flash of a smile as he glanced up with a grin as we congratulated our newest hire on surviving the morning. I was just starting to clean when Angela nudged me.

"Go talk to him," she whispered conspiratorially.

I just laughed. "Him? Why?"

"He's cute!" I laughed again. A thirty-five-year-old black bundle of spitfire and flirtatiousness, Angela thought everyone was cute. "And don't think I didn't notice him trying his hardest to flirt with you."

"Crazy lady say what?" I teased.

"Oh, honey. He's looked up every time you laughed!" She tapped me on the arm to emphasize what she was saying, eyes flicking over my shoulder to look at him, and waggled her fingers at me. "Get on over there with your little self!" Gripping my shoulder, she turned me around to face him.

"But, Angela - "

"Hush, child. Put your game face on!" With that, she pushed me toward him, and there was no point in arguing - because at that moment, he looked up at me and smiled, clearly expecting me to walk over.

"Um." Tossing a glare over my shoulder at the mischievously grinning Angela, I yanked off my headset, hands nervously checking my hair. The fifteen feet between us suddenly seemed a mile, and crossing the store to him seemed to take an incredibly awkward eternity as he watched me, grin widening.

Finally reaching his table, I put a hand on the chair sitting opposite him, and couldn't help but notice how, up close, the sun highlighted his features, making half of his face seem to glow.

Casting a desperate glance at Angela only to receive a hand gesture of, "Go on!" I desperately tried to think of something to say.

"Um." Smiling, he put down his paper and leaned back against his chair, one arm draped on top of the table, the other hand coming down to grip the side of the chair by his hip. He looked up at me, clearly expecting me to be the first to say something.

"How's the coffee treatin' ya?" Internally, I winced. Why couldn't I think of something witty to say?

He took a breath, looking amusedly down and to the side. "You made it, right?"

"Yessir," out rushed the nervous response.

He leaned forward toward me, crossing his arms in front of him and bracing himself against the table. "Well, I have to be honest."

"Yessir?" My heart paused anxiously in my chest.

"It's not really all that great," he told me, with a chuckle. Somehow I couldn't be insulted. After all, I had made the coffee, I _knew_ it probably wasn't that great. The sound of his laughter reached out and invited me to join in, and I accepted. Laughing together, I glanced at my shoes shyly, holding the headset in both hands in front of me.

The sound of laughter faded from the coffee house, but not from his eyes, which tendrils of sunlight seemed to sneak into and light up. He held my gaze, remnants of a smile still on his face as time stretched longer between us. Finally, he cleared his throat and looked down into his coffee cup, giving the probably cold by now cup a swirl before tipping it back and draining it. Folding his paper back up, he stood, putting on his coat and sticking the paper between his arm and his torso. He walked straight past me, hands in pockets, and I couldn't help but feel as if I had been foolish to believe he'd be interest in me.

I was gazing at my shoes in a fugue of anticlimactic disappointment when he leaned playfully back into my view and said, "See you tomorrow." With that, he handed me a wink and continued out the door as I turned to look at him in happy surprise.

Grinning, I turned to Angela, only to be greeted by the sight of the entire staff watching me. Cheekily ignoring my indignant glare, they started clapping. Shaking my head, I returned to work to the sound of the cheers of my friends.

He came in every day after that for a year, always ordering the caramel macchiato, always teasing me about the taste (but drinking the entire cup), and always giving me a five dollar tip.

In Texas, seventeen is the age of majority. The day of my seventeenth birthday, the staff of the coffee house made me wear a crown for the entire day. That day, he took a sip of his drink and looked at me in surprise. It was the first time I ever made him a decent cup of coffee. In return, he offered to take me to a birthday dinner - an offer I accepted.

He surprised me - dinner was pizza at the bowling alley. As it turned out, I was a horrible bowler, and he was only marginally better. We were the only adults in the place who needed the aid of gutter guards. It should have been awkward, but after seeing him everyday for a year, it felt like we already knew each other. Afterward, he asked for my phone number so we could go out again.

He called me that night. I still remember how he laughed at himself when he asked, "Is tomorrow too soon?"

The next night we went ice skating. It was something I knew how to do - a contrast to Mark, who had only done it twice before. He held my hand the entire night.

There was a moment when he nearly fell, which nearly made _me_ fall. Shrieking with laughter, we grabbed each other for support and I ended up pulled against him. Laughter faded as he looked into my eyes and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

I could have sworn he was going to kiss me. I'd have bet my bottom dollar - and I would have lost it. A change came over him, and he separated himself from me. I felt saddened when he told me he only wanted to be my friend, but not surprised. He was far too much for a girl like me - too good looking, too wealthy, too mature. Too perfect. We became good friends - such good friends, that when I moved to New York, he followed me there.

So, two years later, any romantic feelings I had for him had been properly squelched - but I had found the best friend I ever could have asked for. He was my shoulder to cry on, my mentor, and my secret keeper. Classically a loner, there was no one who knew me better than he did. I trusted him with my life.

Mark's voice brought me back to the present with a snap. "Clark, we need to go."

"What?"

"We need to get out of here," he gripped my upper arms in urgency. "We need to go."

"Mark, what's the hurry? Is everything alright?"

"No, Clark. We need to go. Right now."

Looking into his eyes, I could see that he was frightened. Not of whatever situation was going on, but for _me_.

Okay then. That was strange, but I wasn't going to be one of those stupid girls in the movies who stands around asking questions while the ax murderer sneaks up on her and her friends.

"Okay. Let's go."

He sighed in relief, but suddenly his eyes caught on something over my shoulder. I turned to look, but he stopped me. "Don't draw his attention," he said in a quiet voice.

Turning, he gripped my hand and lead me into the thick of the restaurant. Sneaking a glance over my shoulder, I saw the menacing man I had bumped into on the street. He stood out, all alone and dressed entirely in black. A bad feeling started spreading in my gut as I noticed that he seemed to be looking for someone.

Together, Mark and I slipped out a back door and into the alleyway beyond. He sighed and paused. "That was close."

"Mark?"

"Hang on. I'm trying to think."

"I -"

"Hold on!"

I stared at him blankly. In all the years we had known each other, Mark had never snapped at me. We'd never even fought. Whatever was going on, far be it from me to question him when he was this stressed.

"Okay." I settled against the wall, ready to wait as long as he needed. He sighed and came to lean against the wall next to me.

"I'm sorry. I'm just worried."

"It's alright," I reassured. Changing the subject, I asked, "So. What have you thunk up?"

"We need to go to San Francisco."

"California? But that's - " I stopped as something caught my eye. "Woah."

Grabbing his arm to get his attention, I pointed at the trickle of strange black glowing lights appearing to stream down from the sky like rain. "Mark, do you _see _that?"

"Oh no."

It was all I could do to stare as the group of tiny lights took on the shape of a human form - a man's form. As it became clearer, I could make out the features of the intimidating man from inside the restaurant.

"Wha -" He yanked me away from the man, backpedaling and pushing me behind him.

The strange man smiled, and held out his hand. With a small "Poof!" and a pop of black smoke, an evil-looking crossbow appeared in his grip. He hefted it, and pointed the business end at Mark and I.

I yelped as he fired, and felt Mark throw his weight against me. "Down!"

Together we ducked quickly out of the way, and just as quickly he tugged me up and we started to run for the end of the alleyway.

"Damn it!" Mark swore as we met with a dead end.

With a crossbow-wielding lunatic standing between us and the only exit, our fate seemed to be imminently looming closer. We both turned, needing to see his advance, examining him for any sign of weakness we could fight our past. Unfortunately, the alley was far too narrow, and that crossbow seemed far too large for any escape attempts.

With another black puff of smoke, another black arrow appeared in the crossbow. The black-clad stranger readied his shot as Mark grabbed me to him and turned, covering my body with his to protect me.

A strange feeling of air and lightness overtook me as radiant blue light surrounded us, blinding me. Bells that could have been played by the angels chimed in my ears, and I vaguely felt a sense of movement and wind rushing past us. I could still feel Mark wrapped around me, it felt as though he was the only the keeping me from crashing back down to Earth.

Dimly I could see ground rushing toward me, and panic rose in my throat. I heard Mark's voice rumble in my ear, murmuring reassurances as his tightened around me, securing me.

Gravity and solidity hit me hard as the light and bells abandoned me, and I fell over, completely dizzy and unbalanced after the feeling of being human champagne.

Mark lowered me to slowly sit on stone steps. "Put your head between your knees for a minute," he told me worriedly. "We're safe for now."

"For now?" Gradually, my disorientedness faded, and I looked up, taking in our surroundings.

I sat on stone steps that lead to the sidewalk from a house walkway, the solution to a house on a hill higher than the street. On either side of this was a short stone wall that seeming to be holding back the yard, breaking only to allow the driveway to cross the threshold.

"Where are we?"

"San Francisco."

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><p>Wooh! That was long. -_-'<p>

So I hope you enjoyed it! I usually go back and re-read and tweak several times (in fact, I seem to be in a never-ending loop of editing), so this is by no means a final version. Nothing major will change, mind you - at most some of the sentences will be tweaked and moved around or the wording changed.

Reviews are muchly appreciated!

I'll try to update soon. :D

**_Signed,_**

**_KiwiChookie_**


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